Pieces of Me
by mrsehealer
Summary: This story follows Molly Hooper's journey after S04 Ep03 (The Final Problem). Sherlock called Molly and made a weird request. So what happens next? How will that event change Molly and Sherlock's friendship? Were the words said by Sherlock true? Or was he trying to save her at all costs?


Chapter 1 – Picking Up the Pieces

**Molly**

I catch myself scratch the granite counter at the lab again. My nails are breaking with so much pressure I've been applying. I should be focusing on the papers laying on the counter, but I just can't help it. I've got too much on my mind. For some strange reason, I don't want to look at the examination table or the lab right now. So I look at the papers instead and finish my notes of the day. My high heels are bothering me, and my dress is pinching me, I swear. It's pathetic I must get through today dressed like that. At least I have my white coat one. It makes me feel more real.

Patient number 12, Johnathan Wills, done. Cause of death, suicide. Wait. Not suicide, car accident Molly Hooper!

I take a long breath. I try to ground myself, impossible with those heels, but at least I try. I think about what I learned from my instructor Karen at yoga. Breathe in the energy of the ground, all the way up to your head, breathe out the stress, send it to the ground. Not sure if that works, but I have no option right now.

I hear steps behind me. I don't bother looking and keep writing my notes. The janitor can do his job while I finish the papers. Done. I think I'm finally done.

I don't hear much from the janitor, so I turn around, head still down, folder in my hand.

To my surprise, it's Sherlock over there. He's been there for at least a full minute.

"You've scared me," I say, bluntly. "I thought it was Mr. Arpin."

"My apologies, Molly. I…" his voice trails off, as he stares at me with intent. It's hard to read his eyes at that moment. Well. It's always hard to read his eyes.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" I smile.

"You're dressed up."

I love how he simply points out things.

"Yes. I have a very important event tonight…" I hesitate. But who cares, it's just Sherlock. "That might decide the future of this hospital… and my job."

He keeps staring, his eyes never leaving mine, although I know that he probably knows the brand of my shoes by now. Sherlock has this incredible gift. I don't know how much he sees, but I always feel like an X-ray when he's around.

"You're upset."

"Yes," I say, looking down.

He walks toward me. I can't help but eye him when he leans against the counter by my side.

"I could tell you'd been crying last time we talked. Before…" Sherlock hesitates now, but I know he is referring to "the call." It was the last time we spoke. John filled me in about everything, including all about his crazy sister.

John always calls me to fill in about Sherlock, even more than I want to know.

I look down again. "Yes."

After I answer, Sherlock does something he'd never done before, with such gentleness. He takes the folder off my hands, places it on the counter, and he holds my hand into his.

"Please tell me, Molly. What happened to you before I called you? What is happening now?"

"The hospital… it's running out of funds." For a moment I wonder if I spoke loud enough. But again, with his gift, he'd always be able to hear me.

"So you're going to a fundraising tonight to help the board save it."

Of course, he would be able to make such a clear deduction. I nod.

"And, you don't like the wealthy family who is willing to buy it."

"How…?" I babble. Then I snort. "Ok, it doesn't matter how you know. The bottom line is: I don't know if I'll keep my job. We've been run by multiple charities, and it's clear that we're running out of funds and -"

"You are very talented, Molly Hooper," he cuts me in. "But yet…"

I raise an eyebrow as I let go of his hand.

"You find purpose in this place," he completes.

"I do, Sherlock. Especially about what I do."

I hate being dressed up like that, makeup on my face, hair done, expensive dress and shoes. That is not me, but as I speak to Sherlock about my job, it feels like all those material things don't bother me anymore. And I start to pace confidently from side to side of the room as if I was wearing sandals despite the noise.

"My job is grounding, Sherlock. I have a purpose here. It…" I breathe deeply. "it teaches me that life is short. It keeps me on check with reality. And people find it comforting when I talk to them. I swear to you."

I can feel a tear sliding down my face, but I keep going. "Today, I brought a 30-year-old pregnant woman here to identify the body of her fiancé. She told me he'd loved her for over a decade and she never gave the poor guy any chance… until they spent one night together." I shake my head, reliving the scenes that early morning. "She said she'd finally seen him. They were happy, then a few months later she got pregnant. Everything was perfect."

"Until he was hit by a drunk driver on Regent Street."

My eyes bulge. He smiles. "It's written on the back of your folder, I saw it. 32-year-old man, seen by his fiancée."

"Yes, he died from a stupid accident and now he is in that box," I say, pointing to the metal slab. "So she's here with me for two hours. Tells me her life story. And in the end, she hugs me and thanks me. She thanked me, Sherlock, for being there for her. Of course, I gave her my phone number in case she needed… she needed to talk."

"That was a nice gesture," he says, matter-of-factly.

"That's what I do daily, Sherlock. I don't just help people identify bodies, I don't just help the coroner with an autopsy." I take a deep breath. "I give the deceased's family closure too. I am a reminder to them that life isn't easy, but one can always be kind. There is always space for kindness."

I lean on the other counter for support. I suddenly can't contain my tears, and Sherlock approaches me with a box of tissues. I try to grab some, but instead, he wipes my face delicately with a piece.

"You don't want to mess with your makeup, Molly Hooper. You look very beautiful tonight."

I chuckle. "Thanks, Sherlock."

"And you're absolutely amazing at your job, Molly. You won't lose it, I promise."

I don't know how it happens, but I just find my way into his arms. He envelops me tenderly, and I suddenly feel small but great at the same time. He plays a bit with my hair and breathes into the top of my head. "Do you need a ride?" he asks, almost in a whisper.

That's Sherlock. Kind with me most of the time, yet it seems his kindness is timed and controlled. I know he doesn't want to "feel." Anything, really. I've already got used to it.

"I'll call a taxi," I say.

"You don't have an umbrella. How are you going to look presentable at your event if you are soaked?"

I laugh. "How did you know I've forgotten my umbrella?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"Nevermind."

"You can ride with me, and I'll go home after dropping you. But first…"

I wrap my arms around my stomach. I know what's coming. I've been avoiding this conversation.

"I need to apologize."

"No, you don't. John told me everything, about Eurus, and -"

"Please, Molly, just let me." He raises his hand, then shakes his head. "My sister didn't have the right to hurt you like this. And hurt me like that… for hurting you."

I can tell how nervous he is about that. Maybe more than I am. I tried to push away the memories of our conversation, when we both told each other we loved each other – except I was telling the truth. I tried to forget the way he repeated "I love you," and how real it made me feel the second time. I hang up the phone and kept going on with my life, knowing that soon I'd know the reason he had begged me to do that. I knew it had to be some sort of experiment, which upset me to the core, but I felt sorry when I sensed the pain in his voice while asking me. So I remember thinking, "well, who cares, he probably already knows anyway."

But seeing Sherlock in front of me, vulnerable, apologizing for hurting me was probably more than I had anticipated.

"You did not hurt me. I was sad before you called me."

"And I made it worse."

I close the distance between us and eye him with intent.

"Your sister made it worse, Sherlock. You owe me no apology. It's all well." I turn around and pretend to organize more files. "We can keep going with our lives as if nothing has ever been said."

I hear him scoff. Was he upset? Surprised by my "cold" response? We remain in the room for a few minutes, no words exchanged. I can't help but notice that "the call" probably affected Sherlock, maybe more than it affected me. So suddenly my heart is filled with kindness, gratitude for his friendship.

"Thank you."

He cocks an eyebrow.

"Thank you for doing everything you could to save my life, Sherlock. Even if you didn't know I wasn't really in danger. That meant a lot to me, as a matter of fact."

He closes his eyes for a second and exhales. I'd give more than a penny for his thoughts.

"Please let me take you to your event, Ms. Hooper." He offers me his arm.

I smile. "It'll be a pleasure to be escorted by you, Mr. Holmes."

When we arrive at the Resident Kensington, Sherlocks asks the taxi driver to wait for him, as he escorts me to the door at the hotel under his protective umbrella. I can't believe it's pouring like that for that time of the year.

"Thank you for the ride."

"Good luck, Molly. Will you tell me later how it was?"

"Of course. We're meeting at the park on Sunday, remember? Picnic for Rosie?" Just the thought of seeing Rosie that Sunday brought me joy to my heart. I missed her so much already.

He frowns for a second. "Oh, I had completely forgotten."

"Sherlock, you can't forget about our goddaughter."

"Just don't tell John," he says with a sheepish smile.

"I won't." I smile back. And for some reason I can't explain, driven by some magical force I don't understand, I naturally place a quick kiss on his lips. It felt natural, simple, and uneventful. It felt just right.

He squints his eyes a little after I step back. I don't give him any chance to say anything.

"See you Sunday, Sherlock. Have a good night," I say simply.

I can be Molly Hooper. Geeky, socially awkward, quirky. But when I want, I can be confident and bold too. I smile to myself as I walk toward the front entrance and wave goodbye at Sherlock.


End file.
